Hunger: A Pre-Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Tale
by Ria-angelo
Summary: Keeping four hungry young warriors-in-training fed isn't easy - especially when you have a code of honor to follow.


**Preface - June 1996**

I'd say this story is about the Turtles in their younger years, but it wouldn't be true.

"Hunger" is really about Master Splinter, and the sacrifices he made to teach the Turtles life lessons and morals and the desire to rise above mere survival. I wrote it to tell about the legacy he passed on that is so much more than ninjitsu skills. It's a means of showing how the Turtles succeeded, and carry what he passed on with them for always.

I feel very close to the Splinter character at times. Because I had no father in my own life, he is in many ways a kind of guiding presence I look to. I hope this story does him justice...and that this preface explains the story's ending.

Read on!

* * *

 **Hunger:** **A Pre-Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Tale**

 _by Ria-angelo_

Besides the usual street sludge, she'd had to get through somebody's garbage, scattered across the sidewalk near its torn plastic bag, and through the remnants of several New Year's parties.

 _New Year's,_ the woman thought, _should be banned in this neighborhood_. The people here had no reason to celebrate surviving to see another year.

Her fingers traced the bottle of Miller Lite she'd been nursing, then went to a half-eaten sub she'd rescued from that fallen garbage bag. She drank, settled back against the warm steam vent. Beyond her alley, streetlights winked on.

Their dull yellow glare bounced off of dull yellow snow. They shone on the fenders of a faded, rotting Mustang. They glittered over the windows of a passing Duster, glistened on melting dregs that dribbled into a sewer grate, and there the light slitted the eyes of a rat peeking through the rusted bars. Its fur was a coarse, matted brown, with a thin trace of grey along the tips of its whiskers.

The rat watched the woman in the alley. She was an obstacle. She had already raided the garbage bag which had seemed so promising an opportunity. Now she blocked his access to the grocery's back dumpster. The rat's stomach twisted itself helplessly, and he cringed.

Dark came early in the winter months, which helped his scavenging, but food was scarce and competition fiercer than ever. And this rat sought to quiet the rumblings of more than his own stomach. This rat had charges. He turned, dropped to the bottom of the drain and started west. There was a small restaurant two blocks away whose dumpster usually had fare for those willing – or hungry enough – to dig.

The rat's name was Splinter.

He had not eaten in two days.

* * *

"He's coming!"

Leonardo turned from his vantage point at the junction of two tunnels and sprinted toward a door set in the wall of the sewers. It led right into the maintenance chamber Splinter had claimed for them years ago. His brothers were already scrambling to grab the stubby candles and wax drippings from the floor just inside.

"Master Splinter," Michaelangelo sighed happily. He tossed a candle at Leo to go beside the rusting utility sink near the door. "Wonder what he brought us tonight, I'm starved!"

"You're always starved," Raphael teased, but he was grinning, too.

Donatello grabbed for the warm wax sculpture they'd been using the candle drippings to form. "Careful, don't break the snowman!" he warned.

"Go hide it, quick," Leo told him, shoving Don toward the alcove where the Turtles slept. Leo grabbed the last two candles on the floor and set them back beside their sensei's chair. Raph and Mikey were racing around the rest of the room, replacing the rest of the lights. The Turtles weren't supposed to play with the candles, which were as hard to find as anything else from "Above". But the wax drippings were so much fun... Besides, they'd finished all their exercises, as well as the chores Splinter had assigned them, almost an hour ago.

Leo hurried the others onto the floor beside him, and they were deeply engaged in a first round of Rock-Scissors-Paper when their Master came in.

"Hi Sensei!" Mike shouted, jumping up and running over. "We missed you! Did you find anything special?"

Splinter shook his head, dropping the limp food bag and going right to his chair. He pulled a heavy blanket from its arm and sat back, tucking his feet beneath him for warmth. Mike sent a worried look to his brothers, who got up and went over to their sensei. But Mike paused to pick up the bag and peek in – there were some scraps of dry French bread crusts and a cracked bottle of olives at the bottom. His heart sank even lower and he hurried over to the others.

"It is only the cold. I am fine, my sons. Did you finish your katas, today?"

"Yes, Master Splinter," Leo said. "Chores, too."

"Yeah, that tunnel's almost all blocked up," Raph told him.

Don leaned forward, still excited over the day's discovery. "We found some more old bricks and put them in the back, then let the mud and wet stuff flow down and through them. It all got packed in, and stayed there instead of getting washed away like before. It was great! The new room's gonna be dry in no time!"

Splinter smiled, rubbing at the damp fur on the end of his nose. "We will see, Donatello. Well done. Go on, Michaelangelo, you four can eat. I am sorry there is no more."

The other Turtles tried to hide their disappointment as Mike emptied the bag. There was enough for a meal for any one of them, but to have to split it four ways hurt.

"You already ate, Master?" Leo asked.

"Yes," he lied. "A little."

Raphael took his bread from Mikey and tried to eat the pieces slowly. Master Splinter always said that made it more filling. He watched Don fold a crust over some olives in a sandwich, and grimaced. He hated olives. Raph wished he'd saved more of his bread to hide the taste with. "Master," he asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, "is something wrong topside?"

"Don't you mean, 'why isn't there more food', Raphael?"

The other three glared at him and Raph went as red as their headbands, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. "I'm sorry, Master Splinter," he whispered, looking at the crumbs around his toes on the floor.

"You do not have to be, my son. That goes for each of you." Splinter held their gaze quietly. "I do not understand what is going on above. The garbage collection trucks seem to be back on schedule, now that holidays are over. But there is little edible in the bags, and even the dumpsters are more empty. And our competition is back," he said, grinning faintly. "Do not forget that we are not the only ones of this city who go hungry sometimes.

"I will go out again this morning, before dawn. More people will have set out their trash bags by then, I believe. Until then, let us sleep. Breakfast will come all the sooner."

"Thank you, Sensei." Leonardo ate his last olive, rose on his knees, and bowed. At Splinter's tired nod, the Turtles headed for their alcove. Michaelangelo hung up the food bag and went around the larger, main room, blowing out the candle flames. By the time he passed the rat on his way to their pallet of blankets, Splinter was asleep on the chair. Mike frowned, crept back to his sensei, and tucked the blanket a little higher.

Leo shoved over to make room for Mikey, on and under the old blankets. "He's asleep already," Mike told them, crawling in and pulling the warm, worn linens high. It was cold that night, even in their quiet den below the frost line. "Do you think he really ate anything?"

The others didn't answer.

"He'll bring all the food we can eat tomorrow morning," Leo said.

"Maybe he'll find a whole pizza!"

"Or most of one, Donnie. He'd have to steal a whole pizza," Raph corrected. "Master Splinter doesn't steal."

"Well, maybe he should."

The Turtles stared at Michaelangelo in the darkness. He squirmed, then ducked under the blankets. His voice rose muffled from his end of the alcove – "Well, he should. I'd rather make some penthouse rich guy share the wealth than starve to death 'cause we don't want to steal."

Silence. Leonardo lay awake for a long time, wondering how to put in words what he felt: that theft was wrong, and a dishonor. But if being honorable left you dead, what was the point? Who was right? Mikey or Master Splinter? He listened to his brothers, breathing gently now in sleep. Someone's stomach rumbled; he thought it was Raph's. Leo couldn't hear Splinter. Had the old rat slipped out to seek more food? He knew their sensei worked tirelessly to keep his sons alive through the endless scavenging. Wouldn't stealing be easier, and mean more rest time as well as less hunger?

Leo peeked up, over the faded, yellow-brown quilt, to where the master sat in the weak candlelight. Splinter slept peacefully on. Reassured, Leo closed his eyes and lay back, to wait for breakfast and the morning. Their sensei knew what he was doing. If stealing was wrong, then stealing was wrong. And it wouldn't kill them to stay true to honor. They were all still here, weren't they?

* * *

Splinter woke hours before the bitter dawn would come to their city, rising through dreams of his hunger to the nagging subconscious sense that it was time. Time to make his move.

He shrugged himself out of the comfortable arms of the chair and stretched, working his muscles through the old patterns of Yoshi's morning kata. Two of the three candles they kept as nightlights had burned themselves out as he slept. Strange. He'd have to speak to the Turtles – later. Now, Splinter crossed the room and went to the alcove's opening. His students lay in a jumbled row in the pile of ragged blankets he had managed to scavenge over the years, arms flung over each other in contented sleep.

"Wake up, my sons. It is time for me to leave. Wake up. Michaelangelo?"

"Mmf. Up, sensei." Mike yawned. "Do you have to go?"

"Donatello? Raphael?"

Donnie stretched, hitting Raph on the snout. Raph hit back and grumbled something, then rolled to face Leo instead. "Uh, we're awake," Don said.

"There is a list by the door of what I would like you to take care of this morning. And don't forget your katas."

"Of course not, sensei."

"Okay, Master," Michaelangelo slurred, squinting up at the figure framed by candlelight. "An' bring us home something good, this time." Leo kicked him in shock, but Raph and Don joined in.

"Yeah, remember that potato pie thing you found a few weeks ago?" Raphael asked.

"And the popcorn we had at New Year's!" Don remembered. "Do they make that during the rest of the year?"

"Or pizza, Sensei, pizza would – "

The rat was gone.

"I can't believe you guys said all that to Master Splinter!" Leo cried. "We are gonna get in so much trouble!"

"I just wanted him to get something good... I kinda thought I was dreaming..."

"Yeah, sure, Mikey." Angrily, Leo shoved himself out from the blankets. "We better get started on morning chores right away. Man, are we gonna get it when he comes back."

* * *

Splinter approached the hotel warily, the empty burlap bag clutched in one hand. The sewer and drainage tunnels in this area were cared for regularly. He had only come here through the sewers once before, shortly after their mutation. He had not stolen since that day, a little over eight years ago. He no longer had excuse. Scavenging had always provided enough – sometimes meagerly, but always he and the Turtles had made do. Now, such hunting had betrayed them, and he had no choice but to use his thieving skills again.

Just this once, he promised himself, until the luck turns.

A warm scent of baking bread and frying oils wafted through the must of the sewer. Had he imagined it? He followed the ghost scent, focusing on the rough pipe wall and the frost patterns that had formed on its rusted steel. His hunger could not be allowed to distract him. Already the pain in his stomach was nearly overpowering, coming in waves that left him unsteady and shivering.

He should be below the kitchens now, but there was no way for him to reach them from the water and sewage drains. There was a junction ahead, however, which should still have a ladder leading to a grate in the hotel's rear parking lot. From the lot he could cross over and access the air duct system within the building itself. Splinter muttered a Japanese prayer he had learned from Shen, and hurried on.

Two minutes later he was clinging to the brick facing of the hotel's back wall, just above the shadows of a low hedge. His rear claws dug into the lines of mortar below an air conditioning vent. Gritting his teeth, Splinter turned one claw carefully in the threads of the upper right screw. It loosened, spun more easily. He twisted it with his fingertips until it dropped to the frosted pine chips below. Eight to go. The parking lot's tall orange lights seemed to sear his exposed back. If only he had thought to bring tools! Such forgetfulness was unlike him…

The heavy vent screen eventually swung from its last screw, dangling at a skewed angle that pointed its upper right corner to the ground. Splinter peered nervously into the blackness of the aluminum hole it had covered.

He had grown, since those first weeks of mutation. It would be a squeeze. He sighed. He probably wouldn't have been able to manage the crawl a few months ago. Perhaps the winter hunger had advantages, after all. Clenching the folded food bag in his teeth, Splinter pulled himself up and pointed his thin body into the narrow, square space. The fur along his back and sides pressed flat against his skin where his old cloak was torn. At least it was warmer in here, with heating pipes just on the other side of the slim metal sheets. He pushed himself slowly along, claws scrabbling for purchase. Every foot or so there was a groove between the plate sections. His claws just fit in them. Pulling himself forward with these, Splinter felt the ducts open on either side of his face. A T-junction. Twisting and scrunching into the narrow space, Splinter took a guess and aimed himself left. His legs squeezed through the turn, and then the junction was behind him. After a pause to catch his breath, he started off again, crawling to find some sort of opening that would lead him to the kitchens...

* * *

"...wash down the walls; scrub off the pipes in the chamber; air out our blankets and clean the alcove; and continue blocking off the second room's drain tunnel. Wow. That is a lot. Master Splinter wasn't kidding."

"I don't believe you," Raphael challenged, after the incredulous pause. "Gimme that." Leo handed the paper over. Raph raised his eyes, then shrugged and gave the list to Mike. "Let's get started," he grumbled.

Don glanced toward the tunnel door. They'd already completed their usual morning workout in the old silt chamber they used for training, and the morning meditation, and cleanup, and chores. Did their master really expect them to finish all of these extra assignments before he returned with breakfast? He saw his own question reflected in Mikey's eyes.

"Donnie, you take the pipes. You're tallest," ordered Leo. "Mikey, you take care of the blankets, me and Raph'll clean the alcove. We can all do the walls together. Then katas. If we split the workout time with working on the drain block, we'll get done faster."

"But that's still gonna take us straight through lunchtime," Mikey complained.

Raphael shrugged. "Sensei probably decided to go farther than usual today."

"But I'm too hungry to work...and you know the extra food shelf doesn't have anything in it. How are we supposed to work on empty tummies?"

"Maybe it's a test," Don said. "We're supposed to be true ninja, performing a mission in enemy territory, no way to get food – "

"Hey, yeah!" Michaelangelo jumped up on Splinter's chair. "We're warriors infiltrating the Dragon Warlord's palace. Posing as servants, we do the cleaning. But if we eat anything, we'll fall under his evil spell!"

Leo grinned, and leaned forward, hissing. "Mi-ge Lo Samurai, take yourself down from the Warlord's throne! Should he return, your head would roll!"

"Of course, my brothers." Mikey slid to the floor and peered about warily. "I do not see the magic scepter – perhaps he has taken it to the temple to channel the torii's power and make it his own! Come on!" he cried, running the few steps to the alcove.

His brothers shared a smile and started grabbing cleaning supplies. "Wait for us, Mi-ge!" Donatello called. "You don't want to take on the Dragon Lord all by yourself, do ya?"

* * *

Finally. The kitchens. Thank the gods, they were just as he remembered – the air shaft dropped straight for several feet, opening in a back corner near the ovens. Heat rose through the shaft and met him like a wind, stirring his whiskers and the tips of his fur.

Splinter listened. The activity below warned of at least four people working the early morning breakfast shift. He was too late. Smells of coffee, rolls, donuts, tea and chocolate rose to the rat like torture. Tears of hunger pangs and desire rose in his eyes. How his sons needed the food below! Perhaps he could sneak –

A man dressed in white, complete with an apron and a ridiculous hat, came and stood beneath the air shaft. He opened the oven door below Splinter, and the warm scent of baking cinnamon bread came like a blow to the rat. He curled back from the opening, wrapping around the hunger that tore at his stomach like claws. Splinter squeezed his eyes shut, and the quiet darkness behind his vision beckoned...

* * *

"Chet! Chet, come 'ere. Lookit dis." Sunrise lit the top of the hotel already, but the lights of the parking lot continued to give off an ugly orange glare. The two security guards still needed their flashlights to see the ground floor wall above the bushes. "Here. Looks like somebody was tryin' to find a way in."

Chet stabbed his flashlight down the opened air passage his partner had found. "No way anyone could fit down that."

"A kid could."

"What would a kid be doing crawling around a hotel air duct?"

"Chet. Dis is New York. Could be a stink bomb. Could be somebody lookin' to steal towels without payin' for a room. Could be a drug pass. Dealers'll do anythin', use kids, you know that. C'mon, we better report."

Chet hesitated. "A kid? Using the air ducts for a drug deal?"

"I seen weirder." The guard aimed his flashlight at the ground beneath the duct. "But before we go..."

"Yeah?"

"Gimme a hand wit dese screws."

* * *

Splinter woke nearly an hour later. Now the activity below him sounded like a circus. The clatter of dishes was nearly deafening. Steam rose in billowing clouds from the stoves, eggs hissed in splatters of butter, slices of bread leapt from huge toasters, twelve at a time. Skillets curled bacon. Hash browns and orange juice were crammed together on trolleys draped in white cloth and wheeled away. He was too late. There would be no chance to sneak any food out until much later, at night. Splinter began inching back from the kitchen opening, feeling his fur rucked back against the aluminum. His mouth watered around the empty food bag.

But there was no choice. He had to leave the wealth of the hotel's kitchens behind and scavenge now, search through the garbage bags left along the streets – if there were any left by the time he made it outside and out of this neighborhood. If it was even still dark enough outside for search. Splinter had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. A salty scent of ham drifted to him, and the tears that had threatened earlier began to flow. He was so hungry! It wasn't fair.

Suddenly, Splinter missed Yoshi intensely, as though the man he had called master had been lost only a few days before. There had been a vow. _"I will avenge you, Master."_ He thought of the Turtles, so eagerly waiting for his return. He did not need to bring a feast. All he had to do was make sure they survived to fulfill the vow to his sensei.

He pushed himself backward, wincing as his fur caught in the lines of the ducts. He thought of banana peels with half the fruit still inside, not yet rotted. He thought of crusts of sandwiches, with meat and lettuce dripping from the sides. He thought of juice boxes, the cardboard tearing open to reveal sweet, amber liquids stirring in the bottom. No. His sons did not care if what he brought home to them was not the food the rich and the fortunate enjoyed.

 _It is just as well the kitchens are too busy_ , Splinter thought, sliding past the first turn without noticing. _A just punishment for choosing to steal._ Perhaps Yoshi still watched over and guided him, from the spirit realm.

And his disappointment was a simple matter to remedy, really. He had only to retrace his steps – crawls, rather – slip out of the hotel, and exercise ninjitsu in retrieving what he and the Turtles needed. Not, necessarily, what they wanted...

 _Here. This must be the first turn._

* * *

Don strolled over to stand beside Mikey, already leaning against the alcove's entrance, and joined him in watching their brothers finish scrubbing the floor along the walls.

"You know, you guys could help," Leonardo muttered.

"Hey, you're the one who handed out jobs," Don told him, glancing at the pile of blankets behind him. "Just 'cause Mikey and me are all done with ours doesn't mean we gotta help you two slowpokes out."

Raph glared and started to his feet. "Grr. Come here and say that again – "

"Chill out, Raph," Leo said. "Remember what Sensei says about teamwork, you two? The sooner this gets done, the sooner we'll all be able to start practicing our katas. And if we finish before Splinter comes back, we can do whatever we want – like jump kicks and sparring and stuff. So why don't you come give us a hand?"

"Hmm. Donnie?"

"Well, we could start looking for spiders on the walls, instead..." Don suggested.

"Ugh!"

"Not much else to do, then," Don sighed, as Mikey picked up a damp cloth and fell to. There went his chance to slip off and work on the half-crushed shortwave radio they'd found. Teasing Raph always seemed to cost time with his projects. Don told himself to never tease Raph before going to see the Fourth of July fireworks. Just in case the fun went out of that, too. His stomach rumbled. Don decided he didn't care about getting to do jump kicks. He just wanted Master Splinter to come back with their meal.

A wet towel smacked his face and slid down his front shell. "Get moving, Mr. 'Slowpokes'," Raph grinned.

And the sooner, the better.

* * *

Splinter had passed this way before; he recognized the rough pattern of water stains that had rusted the side of this passage. The Rat lay his head wearily on the cool duct floor. For all his skills in navigating the tunnels below ground, these had him hopelessly baffled. He must have missed a turn, somewhere. _Somehow._

No. He knew how. The hunger had distracted him. An excuse, but one that even Yoshi would not chastise now. Splinter's vision kept blurring as he squinted through the darkness of the ducts. His pauses for rest were becoming longer and more frequent.

He centered, focused himself on the 'magic' of the ninja, too often dormant in the long months of foraging. Splinter pictured sunlight on a forest, the rich energy of loam rising through the sap-blood of trees to the veins of their leaves. As many leaves as stars, all shining in the fire of the sun, stirred by a living breeze. He imagined his body, warmed by the light, his spirit rising like water, his decimated muscles strengthened by the earth's channeled power. Splinter held the images a moment longer, then opened his eyes on the empty blackness of the trap he had created for himself, feeling the energy of the world beyond. He pulled himself forward, his arms like growing vines, reaching. The master crept on letting his mind drift, separate, listening, scenting the stale breeze, not feeling when his fur caught and pulled. He didn't feel the dizzy waves roll and pass. The weakness of his limbs he denied. He had only one goal; only one purpose. He tried to reach out, sense his sons, and faltered in the dark.

 _Too much_. He had to concentrate – on concentrating.

A T-junction. Which turn to choose? Which way led to the vent? To escape? He had nothing to leave a trail with. Splinter forced himself to relax, striving for a hint of guidance. Minutes later, he rose disappointed. He started to move left, imagining himself going west toward Japan, where life had meant more than mere survival. Then, the head of a loose bolt in the top of the junction tore a full tuft of fur from the back of his neck.

Splinter hissed, then smiled. Of course. He could follow the trails of his own lost fur. It would take time, but less time than these confused, random wanderings. He used the junction to turn around, then, sniffing, began to backtrack.

A slow hour of crawling passed. Every few minutes his concentration wandered, as the hunger clamored for Splinter's attentions. It felt as though his body was dissolving itself from within.

He saw light ahead.

The Rat had been aware of a change in the air around him; a little fresher. Sweeter. Like sugar in an acrid tea. And the blackness that surrounded him had gone to grey some yards back, he guessed.

This had to be it. Splinter took a deep breath as he squeezed around the final corner.

Opened his eyes.

Forgot his stomach.

Light seared through the duct's opening, nearly blinding the rat with its beams. Beams. Noon sun, reflecting off a morning dusting of snow, shot through a thick set of horizontal bars. He crept forward, unbelieving. Yes, there was the light pole he'd dodged. There were the low bushes, the ones whose leafless bracken had been too low to protect him, last night. This was the grate. His escape.

And it had been resealed.

He was trapped.

Splinter scrambled forward, dropping the food bag, to claw at the bars. He slid his left hand to the far side of the duct, cutting the skin. He bent the smallest finger and sought the screw he knew must be there. It was. His nail just skipped over it, though, missing the threads. He couldn't get the angle! Splinter tried switching hands, pinning himself between his bent elbow and the narrow walls.

He couldn't even get his fingers to bend.

Splinter clutched the grating with both hands, feeling the metal bite his palms. He squeezed. Focused his energy. Pushed.

Nothing.

 _Again._

Nothing.

 _Again!_

The ninja master yanked and shoved, wildly twisting and tugging at the door of his cage. It didn't even rattle. Splinter bowed his head between his bleeding hands and found he didn't even have the strength to hold back tears of defeat.

The tin pathways had become his prison; they were all too likely to be his tomb. He was so tired. The hunger...

Yet the Turtles were not yet prepared for life without him... And even should they survive, somehow, his Master would yet be left unavenged, his spirit doomed to wander for all of eternity.

That couldn't happen. Splinter gently lowered his hands and sucked at the cuts, using the salty blood and the sharp, dry taste of the metal to keep him alert.

"I am ninja," he whispered.

A voice rose, from his past. _"The ninja is master of his surroundings. Master of himself. If I must come to my fate crawling, so be it. But it is not the way of the ninja to cower before a challenge, Shen."_

Taking a deep breath, Splinter began backing up.

* * *

"C'mon, Leo. Go for him!" Michaelangelo crowed. "Watch it – "

"He's getting lazy with his right arm again," Don observed. Wood clashed beneath him and Mikey, lying along the narrow shelf of the silt chamber they trained in.

"Radical hit, Rapher!" Mike cheered.

Leonardo blocked Raph's next three wild blows with his half of the tonfa set they'd borrowed. He sent a kick to Raph's front that drove him back a few yards and earned Leo a few seconds for recovery. "Radical?" he asked, turning to his brothers on their safe perch above the sparring ground.

"Yeah. Radical." Mike grinned. "I heard some of those big kids say it topside last week, on our way back from Chet's Grocery. I think they were going to a New Year's party. Boy, was that a mint night!"

He paused to watch as Raphael went into overdrive, powering through Leo's surprised defensive, then stumbling on a strike that left him open to a tonfa across the shell.

"Whoa. Slow down, Raph!" Don called. "Go for his right side."

"Leo! Quit tryin' to be a cool lefty like me and kick his butt!"

The warriors below ignored their audience, getting into the sparring at a new level. It was fun not having the sensei around to referee. It made things more challenging, with actual risk involved. They could let go, only careful not to upset the candles that lit the wet brick walls.

"Yeah, Raph! That's it! Wear him down! Go Leo!" Mike settled back happily. This was even better than fireworks. He glanced at Don. "Hey, remember the fireworks Sensei took us to see?"

"Mikey – that was ages ago!"

"I know."

They watched in silence for a minute.

"That was the first time we had pizza, wasn't it?" Mike asked.

Don shrugged. "I dunno, maybe."

"Seems like we always get the best food around the holidays, huh?"

"Yeah," Don said shortly.

"Like last week. Turkey. All those peanuts. And popcorn – you said you liked that popcorn, right?"

His brother shrugged again. "Good hit, Raph!"

"I even liked those onions. Where did Splinter say he got those? Was it the same place he got the french bread? Hey, remember all that bread he brought home from – where was it – Chinatown? Last year, the ones people left out with a coin in the middle? Hey, if we saved up enough of those, maybe we could get a whole pizza delivered to us! Wouldn't that be great?"

Leo paused, cautiously lowering his tonfa as Raphael stopped and stood watching Mike and Don.

"...all gooey with cheese," Mike said sadly, "and hamburger on top, and mushrooms. Maybe some veggies. You remember those big green things with, like, fuzzy tops?"

"Broccoli?" Don suggested.

"No, I hate broccoli."

"It was broccoli," Leo said.

"Yeah. A great, big pizza with humongous crusts, and spaghetti, and broccoli on top."

"Mikey."

"Yeah, Raph?"

"Quit talking about it," he said, making the words slow and deliberate. Raphael thought it was neat the way someone could change a whole mood by changing the way they spoke. Splinter was always doing that to them, might as well try it himself.

Seemed like it worked, too. Mike shut up for once. Was looking around at the others, a little bewildered.

"You guys are hungry, too, huh?" Mike whispered.

Leo broke the silence that followed. "Maybe Master Splinter's back."

"Yeah, let's go," Don said, dropping from the shelf.

"But we didn't get a chance to spar yet, Donnie."

"I'm too hungry to spar. I want to go work on the tunnel, anyway."

"But it's not fair!"

Raph's eyes lit up. What a perfect opportunity. He strode over to the cement shelf Donatello had just vacated and, grabbing Mike's right arm and leg, hauled his brother to the floor. "There, now you've sparred. C'mon, pizza boy."

Mike reached up and grabbed Raph's shoulder before he could stand all the way up, then swept out his brother's leg. Rolling over on top of Raph, Mike pinned him with a knee. "Nope. Now I've sparred. Let's go, Rapheroni! Need a hand up?"

"Now we'll never get started on the tunnel," Don sighed, rolling his eyes at Leo. Leo nodded as Raph took the offered hand and dragged Mike down to the floor next to him.

"Start grabbing candles, Donnie. They'll follow the light 'soon as they wear each other out." _And it won't take long, if their tummies feel the way mine does,_ Leo thought. He lifted a candle down from the shelf by the entrance to the silt chamber and stared curiously at the wax that dripped onto his fingers. Didn't the starving castaways in pirate stories sometimes eat wax? He glanced at his brothers. Now all three of them were rolling around, the tonfa forgotten in favor of semi-tag team wrestling.

Leo set the candle back, hoping the hard times never forced them to come to that. Oh well. Splinter was probably already back in the lair, waiting for them with plenty of food. It would be a celebration! Until then...it was time to even up the odds a little bit. Leo gave a happy war cry and plunged into the fray.

* * *

Back at the kitchens, Splinter went into deep meditation. This was a true separation of spirit from body, and it was absolutely necessary. A full menu of foods was being prepared from the freshest and best of ingredients. This was not 'Back-alley Restaurant Dumpster' fare, nor even Chet's Grocery. Before he relaxed, Splinter sucked his wounded palms one last time, then carefully brushed the sides of the shaft above the ovens. The condensation from the steam that had risen clung in beads to his fur, and after a few more minutes, Splinter was ready to focus again. Around midnight, when everyone had gone, he would slip down, eat what food he could and pack the rest. After that... He would leave that up to Yoshi.

There would be janitors. Late night patrons. A dining room, then lobby, clerks...and open hallways. Splinter remembered well – their first weeks in America had been spent in this hotel. He thought of Shen's tea ceremonies, of the patterns of steam against a single flame.

Consciousness – altered.

* * *

"That's it!" Don grabbed Raphael in a surprise hug. "We did it!" He stood back to survey their project, sweeping the messy area with their cracked flashlight. The battery-powered light was precious, only used for special jobs when candles just weren't strong enough. "What did Mikey say before? Radicand?"

Raph shook his head, grinning. "Radical." He ran a hand over the mortared bricks and stones they'd fitted so carefully. "When this stuff dries, nothin's gonna be able to get through."

"Definitely. I hope Splinter doesn't mind that we just went ahead and finished."

"He won't. Let's go get the others so they can see!"

Don was running a finger along the fresh caulk. "No, you go ahead. I'll keep an eye out for any leaks."

"But what if – " Raph caught himself before finishing. _There's no such thing as loud-monsters_ , he thought sternly.

"What?" Don prompted.

"Aw, nothing. I'll be back."

Raph turned to the wall behind them and climbed into the pipe entrance there. It was ten minutes back to the den, going this way. He had to get through the pipe, walk all the way around to access the big tunnel, then get to the intersection that led to the entrance of the den. When Splinter came back and they'd all eaten, he and his brothers could start breaking in a door, where the little holes at the bottom of the wall between the rooms were. Ten minutes would go down to two seconds. They'd found this other room because of those holes in the aging brick. Splinter said rats had probably used them at some point, before he'd discovered the disused space and moved them in. Raph couldn't wait for this work on the lair to be done. Making changes, altering the universe, felt like power, something all too rare for young mutants in hiding in a danger-filled City. Sometimes the changes didn't come fast enough for him, though...

Raph hit the big pipe and started for the den, _knowing_ that Splinter would finally be there. They'd all been surprised to find the lair empty and silent when they'd hurried back from the sparring chamber. Now it was after suppertime. Raph was tired enough to go right to bed after they ate whatever Splinter brought home. It had been a too-long, too-hungry day.

He reached the intersection, turned the corner to the den, and almost fell over Mike, who was sitting on the ground. Just sitting, slumped against the tunnel wall, watching the far bend at the end of the left turnoff. Splinter always came back that way.

"Mikey?"

Mike swiped at his face and looked up. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

His brother's "Yeah" was muffled, and hardly louder than the constant trickling background noise of the tunnels.

This was different.

"Is Splinter back?"

Mike didn't answer. Raph went cold to the teeth.

"Where's Leo? Is he all right?"

"He's inside, putting out the candles. Waiting for you to get back."

Raph sighed. _Why's Leo always make me feel like I'm trouble? And why's Mikey acting so weird? I'll have to figger it out later._ "We finished the wall. Don and I want you guys to come see."

"Well, go get Leo. But I'm not coming. I've gotta watch for Sensei."

 _Very_ different. This was one brother who never missed a chance to see something new. Raphael shifted from one foot to the other. He looked down the sewer to their door, but help in the form of Leo didn't appear. "Mikey, you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, go 'head. I'll see the wall with Splinter when he comes back."

Raphael held for a second, then moved. He was too tired to argue, and he had another 20-minute round trip to go. It occurred to Raph when he reached the lair that he could be the one to watch for Splinter while the others went to see Don, but something kept him quiet.

Must have been the disappointment. He felt a need to run.

Leo bopped their brother on the head as the three Turtles returned. "They did a nice job, Mikey. Too bad you missed it."

"'S okay. I'll see it tomorrow."

Don glanced at Raph. _What's up?_ his eyes asked. Raph shrugged.

"Well, until then, I guess it's bedtime for us," Leo hinted.

"I'll stay here."

Donnie moved forward. "Mikey, what's going on?"

"I'm watching for Master Splinter."

"You'll see him when he comes in to the lair," Leo said. "Come on. We can't sleep out here."

"I'm not going to sleep."

"That's dumb, Mikey," Raph snorted. "We're all tired, we got up wicked early. Let's go," he ordered, grabbing the back of Mike's carapace and hauling up.

Mike shot to his feet, jerked free and wheeled on his brothers. "I said, I'm stayin' out here! Leave me alone!"

"Why?" Raph demanded.

"Because!"

Leo shook his head.

"That's not an answer," Don observed.

"Cause he doesn't have to come back to us!" Mike shouted. "I gotta be out here so I can catch him if he goes by!"

They froze, stunned.

"What?" asked Leo, finally. "What are you talking about, Mikey?"

Mike spun away from the glare of the flashlight.

"Mike – "

"He never said he had to come back," their brother cried. "Maybe it just got too tough for him. He DIDN'T eat before bringing stuff back last night. Maybe he got so hungry he just forgot about us."

"Master Splinter wouldn't do that!" Raph barked.

"No – but I told him, I told him to – " Mike's voice broke up. "Said to bring back good stuff, and maybe he got mad, and – "

"Aw, Mikey," Leo groaned, and stepped over to his brother, pulling him into a sideways hug. "No way. Splinter wouldn't do that."

"Then why isn't he back yet?" Mike sobbed out, sinking back to the ground as Don and Raph joined them. They were getting tunnel water all over themselves. "He's never, _ever_ gone this long."

The echoes of their splashes died away.

"Maybe he got caught in traffic?" Don tried.

"He wouldn't get caught anywhere, not by anyone," Mike said immediately, his voice still high with emotion. "Sensei's way too good for that."

Raph agreed, nodding in the glow from the fallen flashlight. "He'll be back. He'll be back, Mikey. Something came up. Hell, he might even be testing us." He caught Leo's eye in the flashlight's glow. "So we don't want to disappoint him, right?"

That stilled Mike. After a moment, he gave a thoughtful "No..."

"So, he'll be pissed if he comes home and we're not all in bed, right?"

"I guess so."

"Come on, man," Don reached out a hand to catch Mike's. "It isn't your fault. We were talking about pies and stuff, too."

"But..."

"Forget about it, Mike. Quit beatin' yourself up, or I'll do it for you." Raph pushed himself off the tunnel floor, hauled Mike to his feet and pulled Don's headband until he followed, too. He started for the den, tugging his brothers after them. "I'm tired. Let's deal in the morning, okay? You comin', Leo?"

"Sure. Somebody's gotta keep an eye on you three goobers."

* * *

The Rat moved: a clumsy, stiff-limbed shadow that fell more than landed on the top of the ovens. He stumbled, but caught himself at the edge. Splinter stared weakly around the darkened kitchen, then slid over the side and headed for a pair of huge ceramic sinks, slipping a little on the just-mopped tiled floor. The first sink was almost big enough to sit in. Splinter jumped for the counter beside it, missed and almost fell. He glanced around and spotted a metal stool nearby, glinting in the dim lights. He dragged it to the counter and climbed it like a ladder. Reaching the top, the rat lay flat with his head over the deep basin, and reached for the faucet.

He gulped the fresh water gratefully, his noisy swallows overridden by the rush from the spigot. Wonderful, beautiful, delicious water... Splinter pulled back, swiped at his dripping whiskers, and ducked in again. A minute later he sat up and paused to let the dizzy swirls pass. His stomach was roaring with renewed hunger. Splinter couldn't remember ever feeling so starved. He left the water running. A back guard. If anyone came without him hearing, they'd first shut off the faucet, and he could hide. Splinter slid off the counter and walked carefully to the back of the kitchens. His legs kept trying to buckle.

At the back wall stood three sets of tall white doors, twice as high as the rat. Signs on two of them read 'REFRIGERATED', and Splinter knew they held cold foods, like delicious milk, meats, perhaps even frozen foods. But he passed them by and reached for the handle of the third set of doors. He wanted foods that would carry to the sewers easily, and wouldn't need to be packed in snow somewhere above the frostline...

The handle was a strong one, set horizontally against the door. It swung easily down at the rat's touch. He pulled, and the heavy, insulated steel opened toward him.

* * *

 _The Kimberly Hotel has three permanent storage trailers leading from the kitchen wing into the rear deliveries lot. When they were added along with new microwave technologies in 1971, the hotel's overnight bedroom rates rocketed from 40 dollars to over 75, in order to compensate for the insurance hikes that had followed. The rates would have been even higher, had the contractors not suggested an air lock and a tight security system to prevent break-ins. The security system prevented anyone outside the kitchens from breaking into them via the trailers, by installing handles and hinges only on the indoor side. The general manager had been pleased. And luck had helped keep the Kimberly insurance rates down. Only one person had ever gotten himself stuck in the cars during the six years since installment. That had been a careless busboy, who had neatly trapped himself for the half hour between breakfast and brunch._

 _Splinter was about to become the second._

* * *

The Rat peered into the darkness beyond the half-opened doorway, then spotted a panel of switches to the side, too high to reach. Snatching an empty plastic milk crate, he slid it into place beneath the switches, climbed up and hit them all. Sure enough, light poured from the door. An incredible scent was drifting out, harsh as the light to the Master's whirling senses. He leapt down, then reached back and dragged the crate with him to prop open the door...just in case.

Splinter stepped inside, and felt a kind of delirious shock. He hadn't been prepared for this treasure trove! Both of the long sides of the box were lined with wide metal racks and shelves. Tall, multi-leveled trolleys split the trailer down the middle, their stacks reaching all the way to the 8 foot ceiling with its naked lightbulbs. Every available horizontal surface was packed with food! The place smelled like a bakery – no, a whole marketplace of goods! Splinter stood trembling before it, taking the dream in, then turned to the closest shelves, on his right. Tall white sacks of flour were crowded on the tiers. Just to their left were bags of sugar, the bleached American kind as well as sweet brown cane. Beyond them -

"By the gods," Splinter whispered, too hungry for a longer prayer. Row after row of loaves of bread, clad in thin plastic bags, were stuffed beside a full shelf of warm breakfast rolls and donuts, ready for reheating the next morning. The Kimberly Hotel had a reputation for being prepared. They had to be, at $99 a night.

The rat set about making them a little less prepared.

Clutching the food bag by its damp and slightly chewed top, Splinter resisted the scent of the bread for just a few minutes more. He was not going to return, so horribly late, from such a paradise without bringing his sons a hint of the treasures he had risked his life for. He seized plastic jars of peanut butter, a half sack of sugar, some cans of soups and vegetables. They would need to find a discarded can opener or churchkey sometime soon. He dropped in some tea bags, using them like packing popcorn – and yes, for Donatello he tucked a bag of popcorn kernels at the bottom. There was room for boxes of dried egg noodles, macaroni, and a bag of brown rice he spotted in the far corner. He debated replacing the filled food bag with one of the larger flour sacks, but this bag was already heavy. Why choose to risk freedom for greed? There was still room for bread...

Splinter knew he couldn't hold out any longer. He moved back to the trays of breakfast rolls, head spinning. He clutched one pole and stood a few seconds, riding out the waves of dizziness. Heaven was before him. Here was warm, filling, delicious food. He dropped the bag and snatched up a shaking pawful of buns, stuffing all three into his mouth at once, hardly chewing in the haste to fill his stomach.

It was a quarter past 1.

A cheerful whistling filled the kitchen outside, its happy little echoes darting and lilting over the milk crate and into the food trailer, which suddenly went from quiet to absolutely silent. Splinter set his fifth roll back on the tray, snatched up the bulging food bag, and bolted to the corner behind the door's hinges. He hesitated on the floor, hastily chewing, but then the whistling drew nearer and slowed. Splinter climbed the shelves and lay flat, ready to leap down and put the intruder quickly to sleep.

The whistler, however, didn't enter the trailer. The tuneless whistling stopped just long enough for someone to mutter "Lazy stock kids," and kick the milk crate out of the doorjamb. Then the trailer door slammed shut, and the handle jerked back to its locked position.

Faintly through the heavy door, the whistler could be heard moving to the sinks, spinning off the tap, and disappearing into the hotel.

* * *

Sometime around 2 that morning, a warm front from the Gulf, in the midst of a grudging, ponderous, unseasonable trek north, hit New Jersey. It clashed there with the lower edges of a cold air mass that had kept New Englanders close to their fireplaces and radiators for weeks. Soon, a chilly rain began to spin among the Manhattan towers.

Splinter was half-crouched on the highest shelf of the trailer, scratching at the ceiling, when the metal roof inches above him began to rattle with small hail. He'd have to work faster, now, to keep what little progress he'd made on the seam from freezing. He grabbed the heavy, dented can of fruit cocktail at his side and banged it against the bent line where the roof and wall met. Time was his enemy now, not sound.

Picking his way out of this trap before anyone arrived could take hours. No security had arrived, alerted to an intruder. That was bad. A guard or two he could have handled. Getting past even the small crew of early morning hotel employees, however, would be a daunting task, and that was only if luck held and they opened his trailer door before the breakfast rush. He pounded again, felt more of the sheeted metal flinch beneath the blows. Not enough. He picked at a steel staple, using the edge of a screw he'd found beneath one of the carts.

Soon the rat's sensitive ears picked up the steady thrumming of rain that followed the hail. Chill water struck the car and melted the hail, then began to pool in the depression of the center. Half an hour later, as the hole in the trailer widened enough for the backlot's lights to glint in, the pool overflowed and rainwater began to fall over the car's cold sides, heavy. The sounds of the dripping water came to Splinter like distant subway trains... Or Pacific waves against a lonely ship's hull... Or a quiet thunder of hoofbeats...

* * *

 _in the meadow were horses_

 _running in moonshadow_

 _leo watched them run to the trees that crowded the grass. when the horses were gone, he turned around to ask the wizard a question, but the wizard had grown into crumpled brick._

 _leo waited. the grasses grew_

 _the grasses were soft..._

 _he lay in the cool, damp field, turning his face from the dew and wiping at the wetness around his mouth._

 _he kept missing._

 _the moss beneath the grass was swollen with water, saturated and rising. leo couldn't keep his face dry_

 _he tossed restlessly, felt the cold of the water shock his skin_

 _"it's a flood" the bricks said comfortably. "open your eyes it's just a flood"_

Leo opened his eyes.

"Water," he said, sitting up and hearing the blankets beneath him squelch loudly. His head roared and spun, dizzy from the movement. Leo braced himself on one hand, and his fingers made a splash. Cold wetness oozed against his legs. "Mikey, flood! Wake up!" He grabbed his brother's side and shook him as his stomach, despite the panic, clamored for attention. "Donnie, Raph, it's flooding!"

 _Why is it so dark? Did all the night candles burn out? We shouldn't have played with the wax so much!_

"Is Splinter back?" Mike asked, his words weak with sleep.

"I don't think so." They had a candle in their room, on Don's side. An extra, just in case... "Donnie, quick, light the candle!"

"My blankets're soaked," Raph cried. "There's gotta be an inch on the floor already!"

They listened to Don scratching at a matchbook, and waited nervously for the light. Leo didn't want to move until he could see the outer chamber. He could hear the change in the dripping water that soundtracked their lives, how the running drops left splashes and echoes instead of their usual hollow draining sounds. The den _smelled_ different, and Leo wished he could see into the blackness and know how bad things already were. He was afraid of reaching off of their bedding and finding nothing but a bottomless lake of water.

Don was cursing at the matches scraping at the cardboard in his hand. "C'mon, ya damn sulphur, let's go. You're not the wet ones, here. Just light, wouldja..."

"I'm hungry," Michaelangelo announced. More asleep than awake, Leo guessed.

A sudden flame sipped the air, blinding them, then fed its fire to a candle shaking in Don's hand. The Turtles squinted around at their home, blinking the last of their sleep away. Raph had been right; at least an inch of grimy liquid was covering the scrubbed stone of the floor.

"All that cleaning we did," Raph moaned at Leo's side. "Where's it all coming from?"

"It's coming from where the new room is!" Don shouted. "It must have all backed up behind the new wall – we never gave the water anywhere else to go if it rained. It must be raining Topside! Oh, geez!"

"Raining?" Mike cried. "No way, it's January!"

"Some pipe must have broken," Raph agreed.

Mike scrambled out of the blankets. "Where's Splinter? We were asleep a long time, he's gotta be back!"

Leo splashed his way out of the alcove and through the other room. He leaned out the door to check the tunnel outside. "He's not here, guys. But you're right, Don, most of it's coming from the new room. Those holes..."

"Is it wet out here, too?" Raph asked, shoving past Leo and climbing over the stone 'step' of their door. The water along the bottom of their sewer sounded like it had a current, sweeping all sorts of debris past the Turtles and their home.

"Quick, guys, we have to get everything off the ground," Leo shouted to the light behind him, deciding to ignore Raph's shove. No one liked to tangle with Raph just after he'd woken up. "Grab some bricks for Sensei's chair!"

Mike snatched the candle Don had managed to light and started running around, setting the flame to the other lights of the room, sending the wet lair into a stark blaze of color. Oily swirls looped on the water's shallow black surface, but little else floated there, for the moment.

"Come on, Mikey, give me a hand over here," Don called, staggering toward Splinter's chair from a corner by the door, a cinderblock hanging from both hands. "...things are...heavy – "

Leo grabbed one of the blocks and heaved it over to Mike. "Here," he said as his brother jumped back, letting it crash into the water at his feet. "Stack 'em up, quick."

"There's a couple more over there," Don told him and Raph. They started grabbing bricks, too. The chair was riding high in no time, and everything on the room's low, homemade tables quickly found a place on the crowded wall shelves. Safe. The water could only rise another six inches before it would clear the 'step' to the lair and flow out into the sewers.

Mike ducked into their alcove and lifted two cardboard boxes from behind the blankets. The Turtles kept 'their' stuff in these. Leo helped him balance the boxes' sodden bottoms on a tabletop, which he had perched carefully on the arms of the chair, then ran to help Raph and Don with the soaked blankets.

"Wait, guys, we can't put those over here!" Mike warned them. "They won't fit! And they'd just soak our stuff and Master Splinter's chair if we put 'em up."

Leo scanned the room helplessly.

"There's nowhere else," Don said.

Raph glowered at them. "I am not gonna stand around holding these things until the water goes down!" he cried.

"No, they're too heavy," Leo agreed. "Any ideas, guys?"

Mike shrugged, taking some of the load from Raphael. "Are there any more bricks somewhere?"

"Nope. We used them all for the new wall," Don said.

"Then we're stuck," Mikey whimpered. "We'll just have to take turns holding them until the water goes down a bit."

"No way. Why bother?" They turned to Raphael, who sloshed past them into the alcove. He dropped the soaked blankets into the water, sending up an angry splash as he spun to face the others. "Splinter's not here. We can dry them out later and he'll never know the difference."

"That's dumb, Raph!" Don countered.

"He'll be back," Mike shouted at him. "You even said so! Maybe sooner than we think!"

"Oh, and how would you know?"

"'Cause he just will!"

"So what are we supposed to do until then?"

"Until then, we live up to what he has taught us." Leo lifted one of the candles, the nice one that sat in a small glass globe by their sensei's chair. The light cast orange shadows on the Turtles' pale cheeks. "We don't know why Splinter's not back. But we're old enough to be responsible for the lair while he's gone, right? So that's what we'll do. It's what he's trusted to us."

"You've got an idea," Raph guessed, voice flat.

Surprised at Raph's assumption, and bewildered that the others were looking at him expectantly now, too, Leo hesitated. Should he come up with anything like an order at this point, Raphael would most likely jump him. Yet saying nothing would get them all in trouble with the sensei.

 _If_ Splinter came back.

Leo decided to compromise.

"Well, there's no place to put them in here. We just have to find another dry place." Let them figure it out.

"Out in the tunnels? We could hang them on some pipes!"

"Are you kidding, Mikey?" Don rolled his eyes. "They'd never get clean again!"

"We ain't gonna try to put them somewhere topside, Leo, if that's what you're thinking."

He put his hands up, eyes wide. Innocent.

"Got it! The training room!"

 _Good job, Donnie_ , Leo thought. _Saved my butt again._

"Yeah, if the ledge hasn't been overflowed already," Raph muttered.

"Let's go find out." Mike led the way out, squeezing through the doorway with his armload.

They moved, their bare feet splashing and sloshing the rising water that swept months of frozen debris along its path. The Turtles' footsteps echoed until the four brothers sounded like an army charging through the sewers. The tunnel actually did have a current, something they hadn't felt since November. The city's debris slid past them in the chill water, a silent presence that brushed their ankles like shadows. Raphael reached the silt chamber first.

Their training room was often wet during spring, when the huge snowbanks set up by the DPW plows melted into the swollen storm drains. Tonight, the rain was only heavy enough to trickle over the floor, spread a few feet in its center, then move on between frosted edges toward the River. Leo, balancing the candle's globe on his blankets, led the way to the right-hand ledge. Don set his burden down gratefully beside Raph's.

"Where'd Mikey go?" Raphael demanded.

They had three seconds to panic before Michaelangelo appeared in the arch of the entrance. "I'm right here," he said, leaning briefly against the bricks.

"You okay, Mike?" Leo held the light up to see him better.

"I got dizzy." Mike shuffled over to the ledge and dropped his blankets there. "You guys went too fast."

Raph was at his side. "Shoulda said something, Mikey. We'd have stopped. What happened? You get hit or something?"

Mike shook his head, slipped down the wall and leaned back at the edge of the candlelight. "Just hungry. I always get extra hungry when I'm tired."

They listened to the water flow.

"Well," Leo said quietly, "Well, let's head back, then."

Mike whispered something.

"What?" asked Raph.

"I don't think I can walk that far."

No one moved.

"Mike, come on, we're all tired. Quit being such a baby."

Mikey glared up at Leo, but didn't take the bait.

Don scuffed the floor with one cold foot. "Guys, I don't feel all that great, either."

Leo wanted to groan. "We can't stay here, and don't even think about asking 'why not', Raph. I don't care if you're tired, we're going back."

It wasn't working. Don limped over to Mikey's side. "Splinter's gone, we're starving to death, what's there to go back to, Leo?" he asked, slumping down next to Mike.

Try something else. "This is a test. Okay? A test. We have to be strong, fight our way through the enemy's energy-sucking rays. So haul up, we'll work together." He walked over to Mike.

"Here. Give me your hand," he said. Mike looked up, knew Leo wasn't taking no for an answer. "We can't disappoint Splinter."

Mike winced and got to his feet. His skin went a pale, sallow green in the cheeks and he staggered a little, catching himself against the ledge. Leo held his hand tightly, ready to grab him. "You're okay, Mikey, you'll make it. Don?" Raph was helping him up.

"What, Leo?"

"Stick with Raph. Let's get home." He reached past Mike, snatched up the candle globe, and followed the other Turtles back into the sewers. Mikey moved slowly, eyes wide, trying to hurry. He was shivering.

"Feels like everything in me's shaking, Leo."

"It's okay, just keep going."

"Or turning to wood. Stiff, you know?"

"Mmm." He knew the feeling.

Up ahead, Don had fallen in behind Raph. He stumbled every few steps. Until then, Leo had hoped they were just faking, but now it was obvious. His own legs felt wobbly, the further they walked. The hunger was too powerful, and the others had given up the fight of pretending it away.

"God. I wish we could eat something. It's like being ripped up inside."

"I know, Mike. We'll try and sleep when we get back. Then you won't feel it so bad."

Mike slowed a little, stretched out an arm to the side of the pipe for extra support. Raph and Don got farther ahead. "Leo?"

He shifted the hot globe in his fingers to get a better grip and climbed over a tire in their path. "Yeah?"

"If I go to sleep, just make sure I wake up when Splinter comes, okay?"

 _Like you won't be the first one to hear him coming_ , Leonardo thought.

"Promise, Leo?"

"Geez, Mikey. You're gonna wake up fine on your own."

"Come on, Leo, promise! I'll be your best friend!"

Leo glanced at the wax in the candle and held his breath. It wasn't that bad yet. But if it got that way... It was a hell of a request, he realized. "Promise," he muttered. If he had to stay awake from now through next week, he'd make sure all his brothers woke up when Splinter came home.

"Turtles' Honor," Leonardo whispered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

* * *

The Rat leaped down from his perch one final time, turned, and took the last four rolls from the raided tray. He put one in his mouth and tucked the rest into the bag on the floor, then climbed the rack again, with the bag in one hand. The slim steel rods swayed as he reached the top, and for a few moments Splinter feared that the shelves would collapse beneath the added weight. But, by some miracle, the storage rack held. The rat muttered and ducked his head out of the opening he'd created. Just a few more inches on either side and he'd be able to make it through.

The rain left his whiskers dripping as he leaned back in, but it had slowed in the last hour. The lot glowed with murky yellow witchlights where the halogen streetlamps hung in thick fog. Splinter hoped the fog lasted. He might need the cover. Vehicles had already swung into the lot, rumbling while they unloaded people or goods, then pulled out again, leaving a city silence of comfortable background noise and traffic. Splinter set his hands back on the upper edge of the car's side and began to push again. His arms strained, the muscles in his back taut with effort. Beneath the wrappings he'd torn from the bottom of his cloak, the rat's palms were bleeding again. But the metal gave, easing toward the backlot asphalt a few millimeters, then gave some more. Below the line of screws that bonded it to the roof, the siding bulged outward. Splinter shoved out again, his legs tensing on the rack where he kneeled. A popping sound came at his ear and he lurched forward as the wall slipped off another screw. He caught his balance, relaxed, breathed, shifted his grip and leaned in again.

Something banged against the door behind him.

The Rat cursed and lunged at the wall. It gave, a quarter of an inch. Splinter's arms shot over to the other half of the semi-circular opening and pushed down with desperate force. This attack came close to freeing the wall from another screw, but it wasn't enough. He nearly leapt back to his first handhold and jerked at it, ignoring the sudden spurt of blood that ran down his wrist. A clang as of clashing pots came to him distantly.

Splinter struggled against the metal. He dropped one hand long enough to seize the bag and force it through the hole, then shoved again before the thud reached his ears. Ten feet, he guessed from the sound. If he was lucky, he wouldn't break anything when he jumped.

If he was lucky, he'd be _able_ to jump.

The Rat gained another screw's width on the hole. The opening showed nearly three feet of outside light across its top, now.

He heard something shift and click behind him. Splinter faced the curled upper edge of the siding, placed his hands on its center, and drove his weight down with a cry. The gap widened to nine inches, then ten. It went no farther. The door opened.

Splinter ripped the cloak from his back and shoved it through, then dove. His head slammed out into the wet night behind his bleeding hands, and he felt the raw skin of his duct-weary shoulders scrape painfully on the edge of the roof.

"Hey, who left the lights on in here?"

Slamming his hands to the side of the trailer, Splinter shoved forward until his chest was free. He lunged outward, arms out and ready to roll him through the fall.

The siding caught his hips and pinned him painfully, in midair and already committed to falling. The pain forced a surprised yelp from the Rat, followed by a shocked cry echoing off the inner walls of the trailer.

"Gah! What the hell is _that_?!"

Splinter pushed his hands flat against the siding, twisted his legs, bent forward. His arms went tight and powered him off the wall.

He hit the ground and rolled, coming up in a stagger. His head swung, spotting the food bag and fallen cloak. He snatched them up and bolted into the wall of mist, pointing himself away from the glowing lights, and fled the Kimberly: a thief vanishing into what was left of the night.

Fog hung among the city's towers as he fled. It filled the spaces above the frozen pavement, descending through fire escapes to take over the alleyways. It swept from rooftops to refuse in the wake of the storm – grey smoke on a settled battlefield. The Rat used the blurring to his advantage, crossing open parking lots and streets he'd never usually dare, thanks to its natural cover.

He abandoned what was left of his torn cloak in an alley near the Kimberly, after his first excursion underground.

The storm drains were flooded.

Their water levels were dropping, now that the rain had stopped, but the sewers would be dangerous – even deadly – for hours yet, and he needed the food bag to stay dry and intact. He didn't _need_ the cloak. New Yorkers could accept a rat of his size, perhaps even one that carried a bag in its teeth, but he dared not risk appearing with clothing on his back.

He hardly minded the loss. What bothered him was the length of the above-ground journey. Even with the help of the fog, he had to move with some degree of stealth, and that easily tripled the time he needed to get home to the Turtles. He fought the thoughts that drifted to his sons. Splinter well knew that worry for them was a wasted effort of emotion now, a distraction as alluring as his hunger had been.

Still...the sewers were flooded.

How would they react to the rising water, alone, without any idea where their master was or why he hadn't returned? He had left his sons for as long as ten hours several times before...but always with warning.

What would the Turtles do, if they felt he had abandoned them?

* * *

The Turtles stood crowded in the entrance to the lair, leaning on each other. Candles still burned on the shelves of the room, sending up a hundred flickering reflections on the water covering the stone floor. Don shivered against Mike's side and clenched his hands.

"We can't sleep in here," he said.

No one answered. They knew.

Mike shifted his weight onto the other foot. "I don't want to go all the way back," he murmured, barely audible over the sounds of water behind them. Don glanced down the tunnel that led to the training room, which seemed so distant now, and had to agree. There was nowhere to sleep there, either. The candle globe that Leo still held sent a wavering trail of gold before them into their home. Leo didn't follow it in.

Don wasn't going to be the first to step off the wet shelf into the deeper water of the den.

Some minutes later, Raphael shrugged Don's arm from his shell and leaned toward Leonardo, taking the candle from his brother's hands. He crouched down on the doorstep and set the globe out before him, on the water of the den. The Turtles watched, fascinated, as he carefully lifted his hands away from the glass.

The light floated. It bobbed in the miniature waves, breaking through the oil patterns, silent as the four who watched it.

Don watched Raph let it float out of reach, but still no one moved.

"Is Splinter ever gonna come back?" Michaelangelo asked.

Don flinched. "Sure he will," he said, the answer coming like reflex, like a long-argued protest.

"Maybe we should go look for him."

"Get real, Mikey," Raph growled at their feet, "You're the one doesn't even want to go as far as the damn training room."

The huge darkness of the night beyond their tunnels seemed to creep closer.

Don held his breath. Should he ask? One of them had to say it...

Mikey was looking at him, seemed to guess, seemed to ask him to voice the question he didn't dare. _Okay_ , Don decided. "What – what if he's caught?" He ran nervous fingers up the cold bricks of the doorway. "He might not be _able_ to come back."

There. It was said. They could face it now.

"And what if he's dead?" Raph added. Don could have hit him. That was overdoing it! Mike leaned on him, burying his nose in Don's shoulder.

"If he is..." Leo said slowly, "if he doesn't come back, we'll be okay together."

Raph lurched into the water, chasing the candle, passing it, sending shimmering waves into the air as he plowed across the room. He reached Splinter's chair and stood before it, his back to the others, then reached up and lifted the table from its perch on the chair arms. The others moved aside as he staggered back, letting him carry the load into the sewer outside, their boxes still balanced on its surface. He set it down gently, the battered legs just straddling the current of water. "There," he said, stepping out of the shadows to stand among his brothers again. Raph had taken a headband out of one of the boxes, and he pulled it carefully on. "Now we can sleep somewhere."

Mike was the first to follow him to the big seat, perched on its bricks, the fringe of its duster brushing the water.

"But there isn't enough room for all of us," Don commented as he and Leo came over. He could tell that wasn't going to stop Raph, though. He had the look in his eyes that made Don want to find a white flag when they were in practice.

Sure enough, Raph just shrugged and offered a hand to help Don climb up.

He accepted.

* * *

The final turns. At last. He knew these tunnels well, knew their scent and their sound, even in high waters, knew them well enough that for the first time in an hour he wasn't longing for a flashlight or a precious book of matches. Splinter broke into a jog, but his soaked legs sent up a spray as high as his tail, held above the cold, filthy stream, and he slowed again to protect the sack. He knew the bends, one right, a left, a jump up, the final short, ducking run, another left...

What would come after, when he reached the door of their home? Morning was breaking, above. The fog had been shredding in the slants of pale sun cutting between the highrises when he had finally climbed below. His sons had been alone for almost two days. Splinter's breath went shallow as he slowed, approaching the last dark tunnel whose stream led to their door.

He crept down the last few yards, listening hard, but there was nothing to be heard above the low tricklings and murmurs of the water. A thin light flickered ahead of him, reflecting weakly on the wall across from their home.

Splinter reached the door, and hesitated.

It occurred to the rat that he didn't have to go in.

He could leave the food bag, and then just walk away. The Turtles were smart, they would find a way to survive. And he himself would not be always living on the edge of starving, trying to keep them fed. He had the choice – to fulfill a long-ago vow to a long-dead master, or choose a life for himself, alone.

Without...such responsibilities.

But what would such a life be? Certainly not a happy one. The Turtles were more than hungry charges; Splinter was more than some benevolent elder. They were his _students_. They made him complete. Their love was worth the risks, the endless struggle to keep bodies and spirits together. And –

And Splinter loved them. He pictured them training, falling over each other and tumbling more often than not, yet sometimes surprising him with a motion of grace and balance. He pictured them clustered about him, begging for more stories as the night's candles waned. Michaelangelo's bright smiles and enthusiastic hugs. The way Donatello traced his fingers over their 'fixing' projects, almost as though he were _listening_ to the challenge before him. Raphael, sometimes withdrawing from a cheerful group argument or a song, standing back and simply watching his brothers, his soul in his eyes. A difficult kata, tried once more by Leonardo when the others had long given up, his smile of success.

They were more than students. The Turtles were…his sons.

He could never leave them. Not for a few extra meals. Not when nothing would matter to him, anymore.

It was time to come home.

Splinter almost ran around the wall, neatly hopped over the doorstep, and landed with a jolting splash of cold water in the lair.

His yelp of surprise woke the Turtles, tangled together on Splinter's chair. Raph's eyes flew wide open, and he struggled from under Michaelangelo's shell to see. Leo pushed himself up on the arm of the chair, blinking and squinting at the figure in their doorway. Was it really _him_?

The Turtles' substitute bed rocked suddenly as Don dove over his brothers, leaping off the wide, cushioned chairback he had crawled onto and sending up wide arcs of oily sewer water as he raced to their Master. They splashed Raphael and Leonardo all the way up their plastrons as they jumped down and followed. The rat barely had time to recover from the shock of the flooded lair before he was swarmed by the three Turtles, all crying his name and hugging and shouting over each other to be heard.

"Master Splinter!"

"Sensei, you're home!"

"It flooded, we think a pipe – "

"We didn't notice until it was too late – "

"We were too hungry, Master, and – "

"– finished the room but it blocked off the water so it couldn't flow right – "

"Sensei, where – "

"Did you bring food?"

"Yeah, we're starving!"

He cut them off with a single huge hug that somehow took them all in, still clenching the heavy food bag safely above the water. "I am glad to be home, and it is good to see you again, my sons," he said, looking across the room at Michaelangelo. His fourth child stared back, still lying in the chair, bare eyebrows knotted. His son looked ready to cry, but from joy or fear, the rat could not tell. The others had hushed, and he absently handed Raphael the bag he had carried for them for so long. He walked toward Michaelangelo, who didn't move, as the others cried out in wonder.

"Michaelangelo?"

To his surprise, tears began to course from his son's eyes. Mike clambered off the chair and half fell against Splinter, who caught him in his arms for a long, silent hug. Mike stepped back first, and met the gaze of his sensei with wet eyes. "Splinter," he asked in a small voice, "were you mad at me?"

"No, my son." Splinter looked at him carefully. "Of course not."

"Then – why were you gone so long?"

The rat turned to Michaelangelo's brothers and signaled them to come over. Donatello was pawing through the bag, one of the rolls held in his teeth, as his brothers filled their own mouths with the bread they had found stuffed in the top. Mike looked away from the master long enough to accept a handful of food from Donatello.

"My sons, I had no intentions of staying away for more than a few hours when I left, yesterday morning. But I did wish to find more food than usual, and I remembered a place where the food is both plentiful and of excellent quality. There is a hotel some distance from here that can be entered through an air conditioning system, by unscrewing one of the vent covers. I did so, and crawled my way to the kitchens, only to discover I was too late to enter them. A crew was already preparing the day's first meals. So I started back, but was lost in the vents for many hours. When I finally discovered the duct I had entered through, someone had replaced the vent cover and screwed it back in place. I was trapped."

Michaelangelo shook his head in wonder. "But you never get lost! I thought you were mad and just didn't want to come back."

Splinter took Michaelangelo's hand, now covered in crumbs. "I would never do that to you of my own will, my sons. I love you all far too much to leave you." Perhaps someday he would tell them the whole truth. For now it was enough for them to know why he chose to stay. "But what is it you thought angered me, Michaelangelo?"

"You don't remember?" Leonardo asked.

Their sensei only shook his head.

"It wasn't just him, Master," Raphael told him. "Mikey asked you to bring back some, uh, better food – "

"Pizza and stuff," Mike interrupted.

" – and I wanted you to find some more of that pie."

"Oh. That." Nodding, Splinter reached for the bag and took out the last roll for himself, then set it up on the chair seat. Save the rest for later, and wash down this meal with some water from their drinking pipe.

Leo was glaring at Don.

"Um, Sensei?"

"Yes, Donatello?"

"And I, uh, you know, I asked for popcorn, too."

Splinter faced the Turtles, somehow managing to meet all four pairs of eyes at once. "My sons, I was not angry at you, at any of you," he said. "I was wishing for those things as well."

"You were?!" Michaelangelo cried.

"I was. And I found what we all desired, but it was at the end of the wrong path. Listen to me, all of you. We know we cannot live in the world above. But this does not set us above the morals of that world; indeed, it becomes all the more important for us to follow them. In seeking the easy solution to our hunger, I nearly cost us our lives. If we are to survive, and if we are to survive without hurting that world above our home, we must hold the laws of honor higher than those of selfishness, or desire.

"It is said that the shogun in his castle is an honorable man. But it takes a greater man to live honorably with a shack for his home."

The Turtles waited in respectful silence for a few moments.

Leonardo was first to speak. "Yes, Master Splinter, but how did you escape from the air ducts?"

"Yeah, and what happened to your cloak?"

"I thought that the shoguns were bad guys, anyway..."

"Can I have another roll, Sensei?"

They found Splinter's candle globe some hours later, as the water levels began to fall, caught in one of the cinderblocks that held up his chair. It was still burning, a little loose water sloshing about on the melted wax. Leonardo blew it out and kept it, with Splinter's permission. Many years later, he relit what was left of the wick, and let it burn out at their sensei's gravesite, saying:

"Master Splinter always taught us to live with honor, relying on ourselves and on each other. He raised us so that we knew his love would never burn away...no matter what the sacrifices.

"It is this way of life, this path of selflessness, that he wished us to follow, as he did. These last years, I believe we made him proud, knowing he taught us well.

"But his love made it easy. It's what sustained us through the times when it seemed we could never live up to the higher code we had chosen to rise to.

"Thank you, Sensei."

Then the four voices of Splinter's sons said their good-bye as one.

"We love you, too."

 _The End_


End file.
